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by partsofthewholepicture



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek in Denial, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Stiles hides the truth, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2203152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partsofthewholepicture/pseuds/partsofthewholepicture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek doesn't want to deal with Stiles almost attempting suicide so he acts like nothing is wrong.</p>
<p>Or Stiles promised he wouldn't leave, but sometimes promises are broken in a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> So this was a prompt given to me by the lovely Sterek Writers Network I am a part of on tumblr, http://sterekwriters.tumblr.com/. But please, be warned there is a suicide attempt mentioned in this piece. I have tagged it, but please keep this is mind before you read it. I wasn't super graphic, but there are details and mentions which could bother some people. Please keep this in mind and stay safe. Anyway, please enjoy this piece and feel free to leave me feedback or say hi at http://givesmehale.tumblr.com/

He does really well in pretending there is nothing amiss when he hears the doorbell chime. He can pretend the person standing on the other side of the door is someone he wants to see. That everything is just fine.

He ignores the doorbell and pounding on the door. They will get the message soon enough, he isn’t going to answer the door or respond to the flurry of messages on his phone.  
Everything is wonderful, really. Just because all he does is sleep and no longer leaves his loft.

Derek Hale is strong. He doesn’t need anyone taking care of him. He can manage just fine on his own. He has grown accustomed to being his sole dependent.

He hasn’t really slept, just kind of laid in bed and blocked out all forms of stimuli for long stretches of time. His phone buzzes constantly, either with messages or phone calls. He doesn’t know why he plugs the damned thing in, there isn’t anyone worth talking to. 

Derek doesn’t need to be in communication with the outside world. Finally, he has realized being on his own is the best chance of making it through the rest of his life unscatched. He tells himself this enough, and he can almost start to believe it.

Then he comes across a faded flannel shirt buried beneath the mound of laundry settled in the corner of his loft. He was only looking for a semi clean shirt. This was not what he expected to find amongst the pile. It is just a stupid shirt. He doesn’t care about a shirt. Balling it up in his fist, he shoves it beneath the clothes and pretends like he never laid eyes upon the article of clothing in the first place. 

He ends up just pulling on a shirt he finds on the top of the pile, it smells slightly clean and will do the job just fine. Derek isn’t tearing up over a stupid shirt because that would be pathetic.

***

He doesn’t think about the faded flannel shirt just across the room. It is just a shirt after all, and millions of those exist in the world.

The shirt doesn’t mean a damn thing to him.

He definitely doesn’t care about how the shirt wound up in his laundry. He should just throw it away.

But he ends up digging through the pile to uncover the shirt again.

He takes it with him to bed, burying his face in the fabric and memorizing the slowly fading scent.

***

Derek hears his phone buzzing again. He contemplates smashing it against the wall. Picking it up instead, he stares at the name displayed on the screen.  
Scott is calling him. Acting like everything is normal, calling Derek like there is some type of pack business to take care of. Derek almost buys it. But he knows better than to allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security.

He expects the phone to stop buzzing and the silence to resume. The sound doesn’t cease, Scott’s name prominently displayed on the tiny screen in his hands. He should just smash the phone. But he slides it to answer and presses the phone against his ear.

Scott is speaking rapid fire, questioning how Derek is doing and if he can come by the loft to talk. Actually, it sounds more demanding than asking.

Derek doesn’t reply. Just waits for Scott to stop talking.

He doesn’t hang up the phone, just leaves it pressed against his ear until a sigh fills the line, “We aren’t going to give up on you, Derek,” Scott tells him.

***

He sleeps with the shirt until it only smells like him. Searches frantically around the house for anything else that smells like the shirt did. 

He doesn’t find anything. So he punches a hole in the wall and drinks until he blacks out.  
***

Derek knows he should at least consider going outside of the loft someday, but he would much rather hole himself away until he is able to be completely numb to every single commodity in the world around him. He has never been one to be skilled at showing emotion, but now his capability has dwindled even further.

“Just give up on me,” he whispers to no one in particular, Scott’s words still reverberating through his head. But he hopes someone will finally listen.

***

Stiles promised he was fine. Over and over. Said he was fine. It wasn’t easy for Derek to believe him when he would hear the upwards inflections at the end of his words and the   
way his heart would start thumping, knowing he would be caught in a lie. Derek could smell when Stiles was being dishonest, but he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Derek recalls hovering over him, biting the sensitive skin of Stiles’ neck to leave bruises.  
Stiles begged for more.

“So greedy,” Derek would growl, smirking deviously before nipping to the flesh a little bit harder than before.  
Stiles would close his eyes in bliss, letting himself be marked all over. He had no problems with being greedy, because he knew Derek belonged to him.

Derek would change the intensity of his kissing and bites, enjoying the way he could hear Stiles whimpering for more when he would decide to stop. “Stiles…” he would murmur, just liking the way the name sounded on his tongue. 

It was better now that Stiles was back home. He was out of Eichen house, and their lives were going to resume some sense of normalcy in the coming time. There was no longer a need to worry about the nogitsune or be afraid Stiles was going to lose himself again. Derek didn’t have to fear he would lose another person he dared to get close with.

Everything would be fine. “I promise I am okay now. More than fine. Really, you worry too much, Der. I am fine.” Stiles repeated the words until it was seared into Derek’s memory, but he knew it was a mistake to take the words to be truth. 

Derek knows it is such a stupid mistake to blame himself for the sins of other people. He has learned by distancing himself from people, it lessens the damages when he fucks up. Stiles was his one mistake. He let him in thinking nothing could go wrong, and then he saw how grievous of a fault he had made when it was much too late.

He doesn’t allow himself time to dwell on the way his name sounded coming from Stiles’ lips, still half asleep as hazel eyes etched their mark into his memory. He definitely refuses to even give a fleeting thought to the way he didn’t answer his phone that last time. Wonders if there were signs he was missing along, blames himself for being so fucking stupid. 

If only he had answered the phone instead of pressing ignore, Stiles would still be fine.

Derek hates that word now. Fine. Such a load of fucking bullshit.

Scott keeps calling him. He leaves voicemails and sends texts that continue to go unread. Derek listen to the voicemails, deletes them without calling back. Scott is relentless in his tactics to try and coax Derek to come out of the loft. He pleads, saying just once is all he is asking for and then he will quit.

Derek wants to punch Scott for asking for even just once. He doesn’t have anything left to give anymore, he can’t. Just the one time is supposed to be the way to somehow magically unlock those dormant emotions inside of Derek and make the world a place full of happiness and no pain once more. He knows Scott won’t quit, even if Derek concedes to his demands.

Somehow Derek finds himself climbing into the shower, standing under the scalding water until it turns to ice.

He stands there, ice prickles against his skin, waiting for Stiles to come through the day and ask if there is room for one more. Wishful thinking on his part, because he knows this is never going to happen again. No many how many places Derek wants to search, Stiles isn’t there anymore.

Almost ten minutes pass before Derek twists the knob roughly, the stream of water gone. He grabs the towel resting on the rack, wraps it around his hips and returns to the main room of the loft.

Derek throws the towel down on the pile of laundry, quickly dressing himself in a pair of faded jeans and a charcoal henley. He doesn’t think about the flannel shirt peeking out from between tangled sheets on the bed nearby.

He picks up his phone and sees Scott has called three more times. He left the same amount of the voicemails to match his calls and numerous texts Derek doesn’t even bother to clear out of his notifications screen.

Holding the phone in his hand, he contemplates the idea of once more just smashing it to pieces so he doesn’t have to deal with the onslaught of messages and calls which don’t seem to be slowing down in the near future.

He selects Scott’s name on the screen and presses the call button, tentatively placing the phone against his ear.

Derek expects the phone to just ring, but Scott answers immediately. He sounds happy almost to know Derek called him back, asks when he will be coming by. Scott keeps talking, behaving as though this is another social call or pack business. His voice contains no hint of anything being wrong, Derek can almost believe the lie for a split second.

He lets out the breath he had been holding and replies, “I will be there.”

Scott is silent for a moment, stunned by the agreement he never thought would come. “Thank you,” is all he says.

Derek hangs up without saying goodbye.

***

Stiles is the one who spent all of his time taking care of everyone else, making sure they were okay and disregarding all of the concerns raised when asked about his own well being.

He promised he would be alright the day his dad picked up from Eichen house, Derek hovering around the periphery as part of the welcome wagon.  
Derek knew Sheriff Stilinski only tolerated him for Stiles’ sake, but it had meant a lot when he had asked Derek to accompany him to pick up Stiles upon his release from the hospital.

Stiles who kissed Derek in front of his dad and said he had missed him like crazy, almost as much as he had missed his dad.

***

He didn’t know Stiles was only keeping up appearances to reassure his loved ones he was fine. Stiles was falling apart slowly day by day, guilt eating away at him because he had been the nogitsune. No amount of therapy or copious amounts of pills could erase the images of death and blood seared into his mind, even worse the lingering feelings of thrill and adrenaline conjured up when reflecting back on his actions. He just wanted all of it to stop.  
Stiles wanted it to be mess free, didn’t want someone to find him sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood. It wouldn’t do well for his last images to be the blood already haunting him either. So he did his research and found out the perfect amount of anxiolytics to take, combined with phenergan to avoid the chance his body would vomit back up the pills and try to save him. Stiles meticulously planned, choosing the method which wouldn’t hurt because he had never been good with pain.  
Derek wanted to see Stiles even though they had only been apart a few hours so he drove to the Stilinski residence and climbed into the window, intending to sneak into bed with Stiles and continue what they had started earlier.

Stiles was lying in bed, sprawled out like he had fallen asleep while playing one of his computer games. The laptop was next to him, the screen illuminating his sleeping face. But his breathing didn’t sound normal. Or his heartbeat. Derek noticed the odd positioning of the sleeping boy and rushed over to him, trying to shake Stiles awake.

Derek was holding the limp body in his arms, calling Stiles’ name in hopes of rousing him. The heartbeat was faint and Stiles’ breathing was becoming more shallow. His voice broke as he said, “You promised not to leave me..”

He held Stiles in his arms, traitorous tears slipping from beneath his lashes. His eyes flashed blue as a howl of anguish escaped from his lips, reaching the pack and causing 

Sheriff Stilinski to rush into the room with gun to find Derek holding his only tangible piece left of Claudia in his arms. He shook his head at scene, pointing the gun at Derek and asking what Derek did to his only child. 

Tears blurring his own vision, Sheriff Stilinski whispered, “This is all your fault, Derek.”

“He is still breathing…” Derek mumbled, placing his head against Stiles’ chest to see if his heart was still pumping blood. It wasn’t strong, but he could hear the organ fighting to keep Stiles alive.

Sheriff Stilinski placed the gun on the dresser, frantically dialing 911 on his cell phone. “This is Sheriff Stilinski, I need an ambulance now. Stiles...he...I just need an ambulance now for my son!”

Derek refused to let Stiles go until the EMTs arrived, growling at them to be careful as he watched them place Stiles on the stretcher and attach a breathing tube into his nose. 

Sheriff Stilinski watched with calm authority, doing a damn good job of hiding how much he wanted to kill Derek Hale right then and there.

“You aren’t allowed at the hospital,” he hissed to Derek as Stiles was taken out to the ambulance. “You aren’t allowed anywhere near my son ever again.”

Derek watched the Sheriff climbed into the back of the ambulance with Stiles, the door slamming shut like the lid of a coffin. 

***

“Derek.”

Scott is waiting as the Camaro pulls into an open parking space and Derek gets out, slamming the door shut with more force than needed. He despises his wolf senses when he can hear Scott saying his name even though they are out of speaking range for normal people. Then again, they aren’t exactly defined as conventional. 

“I told you once,” Derek greets him when he steps onto the porch, already itching to make his escape.

“I know, I know,” Scott tells him, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he turns to open the door to the house. Derek freezes in the door frame, the familiar scent of hospital permeating his lungs quicker than he would like. Recollections of Cora being in the hospital...of Peter being in the coma...all hit him hard and he begins to turn out to leave.  
Scott grabs his arm roughly, yanking Derek inside and slamming the door. He keeps his grip tight as his eyes flash red for a moment before he regains his composure, “Fucking hell, Derek. I am asking you to do this once. Do it for Stiles.”

At the sound of that name, Derek snatches his arm and pins Scott against the hall roughly. He keeps his arm pressed against Scott’s chest, jabbing his finger violently close to Scott’s eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare try and say that to me,” he growls. “I did this because you said you would leave me alone if I did so here I am.”  
He drops his hand, letting Scott free and stepping away. Scott doesn’t make any comments, just gestures for Derek to follow him. The hospital stench gets closer with each step, masked by the even stronger scent of decaying flowers. The combination churns his stomach and causes sensations of lightheadedness. Beneath those scents, he can detect one he missed. The smell of laundry detergent, grass, and sunshine...it was the only way he could ever really put into words the way Stiles smelled. 

There’s a moment of pausing before the door, Scott giving Derek a look and Derek just shaking his head because he doesn’t want to speak. He shouldn’t have come in the first place, it was all a mistake. He was better off holing himself away in the loft, shutting out the world until they just give up on him. Instead, the door slowly swings open and he has to finally face the reality of what he has been avoiding the last few weeks. He takes a tentative into the the bedroom he once knew so well, transformed into a hospital room [or a tomb if he is being honest with himself]. The sound of all the machines knocks him out of his reverie, reinforcing actuality.

Stiles lies there in his hospital bed, eyes shut tight due to the vegetative state he will remain until...something happens. He can’t breathe on his own and doctors say if he does wake up, he will never be himself. 

Carefully, Derek is walking over to the side of the bed and taking Stiles’s hand, voice breaking as he asks, “Why’d you leave me?”  
Stiles is just lying there, not opening his eyes or answering the question Derek so desperately needs answered. Falling to his knees, Derek grasps Stiles’ hand tightly as his body begins to shake with sobs. The choked noises emanating from his throat hurt, cutting into him with the precision of a razor edged blade.

“Come back to me,” Derek implores and squeezes Stiles’ hand softly.

Silence.

He presses a soft kiss against Stiles’ cheek, a tear falling and making the kiss taste salty.

“Stiles…” 

The hand he is holding faintly squeezes back.


End file.
